Rage by Jonathan Kellerman

terrific kid but she needs a lot
of structure.”
    “A.D.D.?”
I said.
    “It’s
that obvious, huh?” Now she stared at me with wide blue eyes. “ I know
who you are. The psychologist who saw Rand.”
    “Alex
Delaware.” I held out my hand.
    She
took it readily. “We met at the jail.”
    “Yes,
we did, Reverend.”
    “I
guess,” she said, “our paths cross at sad junctures.”
    “Occupational
hazard,” I said. “Both our occupations.”
    “I
suppose . . . actually, I’m not a minister, just a teacher.”
    I
smiled. “ Just a teacher?”
    “It
comes in handy,” she said. “For homeschooling. We homeschool the kids.”
    Milo
said, “Foster kids?”
    “That’s
right.”
    “How
long do they stay with you?” I said.
    “No
set time. Val was supposed to be with us for sixty days while her mother was
evaluated for detox. Then her mother O.D.’d and died and all of Val’s relatives
live in Arizona. She barely knows them— her mom ran away from home. Top of
that, they weren’t interested in taking her. So she’s been with us nearly a
year.”
    “How
many fosters do you care for?”
    “It
varies. My husband’s shopping over at Value Club. We buy in bulk.”
    “What
was the arrangement with Rand Duchay?” said Milo.
    “The
arrangement?”
    “With
the state.”
    Cherish
Daney shook her head. “That wasn’t a formal situation, Lieutenant. We knew Rand
was being released and had nowhere to go so we took him in.”
    “The
county had no problem with his being here?” said Milo. “With kids?”
    “It
never came up.” She stiffened. “You’re not going to cause problems for us, are
you? It wouldn’t be fair to the kids.”
    “No, ma’am.
It was just a question that came to mind.”
    “There
was never any danger,” she said. “Rand was a good person.”
    Same
claim he’d made. Neither Milo nor I answered.
    Cherish
Daney said, “I don’t expect you to believe this, but eight years transformed
him.”
    “To?”
    “A
good person, Lieutenant. He wasn’t going to be with us long term, anyway. Just
until he found a job and a place to stay. My husband had made inquiries with
some nonprofits, figuring maybe Rand could work at a thrift shop, or do some
landscaping work. Then Rand took the initiative and came up with the idea of
construction. That’s where he went Saturday.”
    “Any
idea how he ended up in Bel Air?”
    She
shook her head. “He’d have no reason to be there. The only thing I can think of
is he got lost and someone picked him up. Rand could be very trusting.”
    “He
never phoned you?”
    “He
didn’t have a phone,” she said.
    He’d
called me from a pay booth.
    Milo
said, “How close is the construction site?”
    “Up a
few blocks on Vanowen.”
    “Not
very far, in terms of getting lost.”
    “Lieutenant,
Rand spent his entire adolescence in prison. When he got out he was extremely
disoriented. His world was a buzz of confusion.”
    “William
James,” I said.
    “Pardon?”
    “Pioneer
of psychology. He called childhood a blooming, buzzing confusion.”
    “I
probably learned that,” said Cherish. “I took psychology in seminary.”
    Milo
said, “So you kept in regular contact with Rand while he was in custody.”
    “We
did,” she said. “Right after Troy died, we initiated contact.”
    “Why
then?”
    “Initially,
we were more involved with Troy because we knew him before the trouble.”
    “The
trouble being Kristal Malley’s murder,” said Milo.
    Cherish
Daney looked away. Her stoop became more pronounced.
    “How’d
you know Troy before, Mrs. Daney?”
    “When
my husband and I were students, part of our community service seminar involved
identifying needs in the community. Our apartment wasn’t that far from 415
City, so we knew its reputation. Our faculty adviser thought it would be a good
place to find kids with needs. We talked to Social Services and they identified
several prospects. Troy was one of them.”
    “Rand
wasn’t?” I